


Mulderslut

by Teland



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Crack, First Time, Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-02-16
Updated: 1999-02-16
Packaged: 2020-12-14 08:54:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21013094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: A Mulderday.





	Mulderslut

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to ciceqi and Lucy for audiencing and beta!

Te: Speaking of That Way, I was thinking about Mulder.  
ciceqi: Oooh, tell me more!  
Te: He's a slut, coyo. A filthy, shameless slut who needs it BAD.  
ciceqi: HOW bad? And how filthy, how slutty, how shameless, how...  
Te: Well, see, Mulder woke up one morning with a hard on. Not that this was precisely unusual -- Mulder had long since grown used to getting turned on by *whatever* his mind threw at him --  
ciceqi: sigh...  
ciceqi: what did his mind throw this time?

He paused, hand stilled halfway through a stubblescrub, one of   
the more satisfying self-pets he'd learned to give himself. His   
cock twitched impatiently, but Mulder wanted to figure out just   
what it was he'd dreamed...

Peach lighting, Snapple, feathers... 

There was a woman in this one, for a change of pace. A tall   
woman, or rather the shape of one. She'd had the feathers of   
dozens of different bird species covering her from head to toe,   
after all.

Not for the first time, Mulder cursed himself royally for having   
memorized several chapters of the Big British Book of Birds one   
bored, hungover morning. But there was a woman, and she was   
a mongrelized feathered thing, and she just *stood* there...

Nevertheless, something about the scene had brought his cock   
to raging, screaming attention. It all sounded like some deeply   
illegal paraphilia in the making, but he was willing to bet that   
was precisely his subconscious' point. 

Yeah, Mulder. If you don't get us laid right *now*, I am going to   
make sure we jerk off to black-tailed grackle songs for the rest   
of our unnatural *life*.

He shuddered a little, and noted his cock was being implacable   
this morning. Or the disgust Mulder felt for his potential   
future-self was just turning him on. 

In any case, he jerked off as quickly and efficiently as he could,   
not bothering to direct his fantasies. If his libido wanted   
feathered statues and a Kiwi-Strawberry Cocktail bottle shoved   
up his ass he wasn't going to argue.

Unfortunately, as *quickly* as the rapidly degenerating images   
and nearly-felt sensations brought him off, he wasn't   
*satisfied*. Not by a long shot. He felt itchy under the skin, too   
warm and restless and shivery and lazy. 

Every nerve ending in his body was whispering 'I told you we   
needed to get laid' in that smugly superior tone that made   
Mulder want to throw himself under a truck in mindless   
revenge.

He settled for getting dressed, lingering slightly -- well, OK,   
*much* -- longer on his boxer briefs and trousers than was   
strictly necessary, and drove in to work early. 

There was always the chance he'd stumble across something so   
horrendously awful he'd lose all desire for human contact for a   
few days. 

Or at least something that would give him new and interesting   
fantasies for those all-important bathroom breaks. //So,   
Bugman... what *else* can you do with those antennae?//

But there was only paperwork. Pointless, wasteful, mind-  
numbing paperwork. Bureaucratic bullshit. That prick Kersh   
apparently never got tired of riding his ass. Hard. 

By 7:30, Mulder had begun whanging his head on the desk. 

It was going to be a long day.

******

Scully sauntered in just past right on time. 

No, that wasn't right. Scully *walked* in at 8:45 on the dot, and   
greeted him cheerfully. She was wearing a vaguely cheerful green   
suit that accentuated every pound she *hadn't* lost while she   
was sick. 

Mulder nodded at her and resisted the urge to crawl under the   
professional little skirt and bite her on the thigh. Hey, it was   
Thursday and she was wearing green. As far as Mulder was   
concerned, she might have been wearing a massive neon sign   
that said 'think filthy thoughts about my tits right NOW.'

"Mulder? You look a little... feverish.... Is everything OK?"

"Just trying to fight the urge to bend you over the desk and   
ravish you, Scully."

As expected, she rolled her eyes and thwapped him with a   
particularly thick folder. Which, of course, made him even   
harder, but at least she started ignoring him again.

And people had the nerve to wonder why he liked the truth.

Mulder returned to the stack of background checks on his desk   
with a small sigh. He didn't even *try* to keep himself from   
making dirty anagrams out of the names. 

No bathroom breaks until 11:30, at the *earliest*. 

Or else he'd just rub himself raw.

******

He made it to 9:58 before he dashed for the men's room with   
what was supposed to be a darkly muttered 'breakfast burrito,'   
but probably sounded more like 'ohhhgod feathers.'

In any case, it got him up and moving despite his cock's wishes,   
which had involved him staying right where he was and defiling   
the keyboard. He'd never realized how fundamentally perverse   
the letter 'G' really was, what with that sharp little turn away   
>from the circular, that inward *push* that would drag *just*   
so...

There were too many people in the halls. It was a crush of   
humanity on all sides, reminiscent of a mall just before   
Christmas. The difference (other than the missing Bells of   
Satan) was that all of *these* people smelled of weapons and   
power. Every one of them was a trained law enforcement   
official, armed, dangerous, crisp and clean....

He pushed into the men's room and barely managed to strangle   
a groan. It was packed. *Packed*. Hearty, silent men divesting   
themselves of the first morning coffees in strong, steady   
streams. The air was thick with caffeine and industrial   
detergent and *men* and he couldn't do a thing about it. 

Mulder turned and walked out without a word, bumping into   
some anonymous blue-flamer as he went. Part of his mind   
immediately began to trot out possible new 'Spooky' jokes, the   
rest of him was focused on getting up to the quieter -- if more   
dangerous -- corridors of power upstairs.

Larger offices, fewer people, emptier bathrooms.... yeah, that   
was it.

He took the stairs, feeling every echo in his impossibly   
sensitized flesh of course, but grateful for the privacy. He let his   
hand fall on the metal railing and it was so sweet and *cool*   
against his palm that he *did* moan.

And looked around for spectators. 

Still alone, no one coming... Mulder pressed his trapped   
erection against the railing where his hand had been and   
*stayed* there for a moment on the edge of relief and torture. 

And then moved to a part of it that hadn't been corrupted by   
his body heat. His entire body shivered, and he was moving   
against the smooth, chill metal before he even realized what he   
was doing, catching the rhythm in some vague part of his spine,   
curling his fingers to either side of his cock, separating his legs   
by a full step...

Spread like this, abandoned to the physical, Mulder's mind   
caught on an old bit of absurd truth -- he was *naked* under   
his clothes. Naked, ready, and *aching* for anyone, everyone,   
certainly for whoever had banged the door open a few floors   
below. 

Yeah, someone anonymous... someone appalled and turned on   
by Spooky's Spectacle who would walk right up the stairs, slip   
his oh-so-conservative tie around Mulder's neck and fuck him   
senseless, right here at work in the hallowed halls of the Effa   
Bee Eye...

Oh, *shit*. The cool metal was suddenly a brick of ice slammed   
onto his cock and Mulder broke his paralysis with a harsh pant   
that seemed to bounce off every individual *stair* before   
silencing. The ascending steps were getting closer, but slowly.   
Mulder quickly resumed the trip upstairs, heart in his throat. 

His cock had subsided a little, which made movement easier.   
Ah, the perqs of a good case of abject terror... Nothing quite like   
it. 

The halls were empty up here, as expected, and Mulder relaxed a   
little and wandered into the bathroom, sighing with relief when   
the door shut behind him.

"Is there a problem, Agent Mulder?"

His eyes snapped open at the all-too-familiar rumble. A.D.   
Skinner, looking like a caveman some fool had scrubbed up and   
suited in a way wholly against nature. A body like that was   
supposed to be *naked*, smudged with dirt and the hapless   
blood of prey... 

//Bet you could bring home *all* the mastodon we need...//

And Skinner was unzipping those pants and pulling out what   
was really a very tasty looking cock. Not at all erect, but thick   
and pretty and *damned* promising. Mulder's mouth watered.

"Agent Mulder, what are you *doing*?"

"I'm staring at your cock, ex-sir."

"I *noticed* that. What do you want?"

The suspicious, just-on-the-edge-angry voice snapped Mulder's   
gaze away from Skinner's cock -- which may very well have been   
getting larger -- up to the rough-carved face. Skinner pulled   
back from his look, seemingly surprised, and Mulder was   
abruptly aware of just how hungry he must look. 

Skinner turned back to the wall and pissed, Mulder didn't   
whang his head against the wall or gibber incoherently... they   
seemed to have found a working arrangement, really. Mulder   
did, however, follow the relentlessly masculine motion of the   
other man shaking off his cock and licked his lips.

Skinner turned, stroked himself once, purposefully. "You want   
this, Mulder...?"

"Fuck yeah. Or, that is... *fuck* yeah."

The other man nodded, might have even been smiling as he   
walked over to where Mulder was pressing himself against the   
door. Grabbed Mulder's crotch and squeezed. Rubbed. Leaned in   
and bit his mouth before moving over to breathe hotly in his   
ear.

"I don't *do* office fucks."

And then he took his hand away. 

Mulder did, at that point, whang his head against the wall, but   
he felt the action was more than justified. As was his plan to   
pull the trigger the next time he had a gun on the man. Mulder   
opened his eyes and stared at his tormentor, who was tucking   
himself away. Skinner looked up and paused, staring into   
Mulder's eyes with a blackly unreadable gleam in his own.

If there was a God, Skinner would be thinking filthy thoughts   
about Mulder's mouth. 

Mulder licked his lips again.

Skinner nodded. "Seven o'clock. You know where I live."

And then he was out the door and gone, and Mulder slid down   
the wall, trying to remember what his general life plans had   
been. Nothing really came up beyond 'jerk off, possibly fondle   
Scully, get pistol-whipped, wake up in time for whatever   
Skinner would make him do,' though, so he gave up and started   
in on his to-do list.

******

It was three-forty-five and Scully had unbuttoned her suit   
jacket *hours* ago. 

And unbuttoned her holster. 

She hadn't *actually* pulled the gun, yet, so Mulder figured it   
was safe to venture into the waters again.

"So... have you ever thought about what it would be like to have   
a prostate gland?"

Scully looked deeply, deeply pained for a long moment, but   
ignored him.

Mulder sighed and went back to his paperwork, managing to   
concentrate for a solid seventeen minutes. Then Scully   
stretched.

"Scully, do you --"

"Mulder. What have I told you about conversations like this?"

"I'm never going to actually get any so I should just shut up, go   
home, and whack off like a good partner?"

"*There* you go."

"But, Scully --"

Her gun was out and under the desk in an *extremely*   
impressive movement, poking a little at his left thigh. Mulder   
eased back in his chair, preparing to --

"I swear to God, Mulder, if you spread your legs *any* wider..."

"... I'm a dead man?"

"A *messily* dead man. Go home. Work this off."

//But Skinner won't be home for *hours*...// "You know, I only   
get turned on when you --"

And then there was an exceedingly distinctive click. 

"Right, I'm going, I'm going..."

******

Mulder had barely gotten in the door before there was a gun   
to his temple and a hand depositing a thick envelope in his   
suit jacket.

"Oh, Krycek, thank *GOD* --"

"Listen up, Mulder, this is important..."

And then there was the usual spiel: aliens blah blah save the   
world yadda war blah etc....

"Mulder, are you *listening* to me?"

"Hmmm... probably not. You'd better kiss me again. A lot."

"What the *hell*?"

"Krycek."

"Yeah?"

"Shut up and fuck me, OK?"

Krycek spun Mulder around and stared at him with a   
mixture of incredulity and smirking good humor. "Well,   
*someone* had a frustrating day..." 

He reached up and stroked Mulder's collar, no direct skin   
contact but Mulder could hear the rough scrape of that   
callused thumb over the fine cotton... He wanted to *be* that   
cotton. 

"I mean, I dunno, Mulder... this information is pretty   
important to The Cause, I've got a long night ahead of me,   
and you've hurt my feelings *so* often..."

Mulder couldn't take it one minute longer. He barreled a   
giggling Krycek over to the couch and knocked them both   
down. They landed on the floor, of course, but it had been a   
good thought while it lasted. 

"Oh, Mulder! Put me in my *place*..."

And Mulder leaned in and took the other man's mouth.   
Snide remarks or no, Krycek responded instantly to the   
invasion of Mulder's tongue and shifted under him until   
their cocks came into blessed contact.

Mulder was still a little sensitized and all the layers of   
clothes seemed to be *abusing* his cock. He couldn't stop   
thrusting against the other man, though, and didn't really   
want to, either...

Krycek was having none of it. He used Mulder's move to   
brace himself for better leverage to flip them over again,   
landing on top and kissing Mulder ruthlessly once before   
pulling away and yanking at their clothes.

Mulder helped as best as he could, but he doubted he was   
very efficient, what with the chorus of angels screaming   
'final-fucking-ly!' all over his body and the way his legs kept   
trying to wrap themselves around Krycek's neck. 

When they were both just naked *enough*, Krycek knelt up   
and licked his lips until they were gleaming in the winter   
afternoon sunlight. And then dragged them all over Mulder's   
chest in messy trails that dried into goosebumps in the chill   
air. 

There was nothing the feeling *could* be but a wicked mouth   
with an agenda, and Mulder arched and twisted under it,   
grabbing at the couch for purchase against the rolling waves   
of his floor and moaning his pleasure.

Alex reached his navel and worried the spare flesh of   
Mulder's abdomen with his teeth. Mulder breathed in   
obligingly and earned a cheerful glitter of a grin before the   
other man bit down. The sensation called to something old   
and primitive within him, flooding his body with a wash of   
endorphins as part of him became convinced that he was   
about to die, gutted by the hungry predator at his belly.

It all just made him harder and Mulder thrust his hips up in   
a manner he hoped was appropriately encouraging, bumping   
his cock against Krycek's chin. The head scraped against   
rough stubble and Mulder let out a brief yell. 

And then he was being flipped again, pulled roughly to his   
knees and Mulder was shocked he hadn't started thanking   
the other man out loud, maybe offering him other family   
members and friends to torment and/or kill. 

However, the touch at his entrance was neither a blunt   
finger nor blunter cock. Krycek's tongue stabbed him with   
intimate confidence, running him through with liquid   
muscle, a sword of mobile flesh. 

Mulder was stunned to silence for a long moment, the   
sensation too powerful to register, but then he felt   
something roll up his body to build behind his tongue and,   
after one last second on the knife-edge of shock and   
delirium, he let the sound spill. A scream of need that   
cracked in his throat, breaking like crystal and Mulder knew   
it was much too loud, damningly so, but could only beg for   
more and more and more...

His cock tried to creep for his belly. Mulder looked down   
between his legs and saw thin streams of pre-come   
connecting him to the floor, pinning him there as effectively   
as the hand steadying the base of his spine. As the man   
tongue-fucking him like they'd been lovers for years, like he'd   
dreamed they'd been lovers for years. 

Krycek's hips were thrusting at the air, his cock looking   
tragically homeless and Mulder promised himself he'd   
sheathe it in his mouth one day, no matter what the   
consequences. For now, he could only keep begging, letting   
his speech degenerate until he sounded just as foolish and   
tortured as he felt.

This had its own kind of truth and Mulder wanted more. 

"Krycek, in me... *please*..." His voice was a rough husk of   
itself, but it made the other man pull back and bite him, and   
that was something dearly appreciated. 

"Where, Mulder?"

The question made him wonder where his gun had wound up   
before the meaning settled in. "Oh Christ... middle couch   
cushion..."

He saw something plush and black fly across the room and   
then there was cold slick at his ass. Mulder managed to bite   
back most of the scream.

"Sorry... can't wait..."

The chill only made his body rebel for a few moments before   
it became just another part of the whole needful, wonderful   
experience. One finger in his ass and Mulder waited   
patiently, willing himself to relax as quickly as humanly   
possible.

Two fingers, a twist, and Mulder was groaning again and   
working himself like a slut on a mission. He could hear   
Krycek speaking but couldn't understand a word of it. The   
pound of blood was too high in his ears, his body too   
damned *ready* to get fucked for him to listen to anything at   
all.

And then Alex was pulling out and the emptiness made   
Mulder choke on a sob. It was only another moment before   
Alex was pocketing himself neatly against Mulder's entrance   
and beginning to push. The movement was painstakingly   
slow, seemed viciously controlled, a punishment for them   
both.

Mulder, however, was not in the mood for punishment. As   
soon as he felt the head of Krycek's cock pop past the ring of   
muscle he rammed himself back on it, shouting the pain in   
an attempt to get rid of it as quickly as possible. 

"Fuck, Mulder you --"

Mulder groaned again, let himself fall to his forearms. It had   
seemed like a good idea at the time, but it had been so *long*   
since he'd done this... 

Krycek's cock was threatening to rip him to pieces, the man   
himself rigid as stone and panting heavily behind him. He   
was full, stuffed with another man and hurting with it, but   
helpless to stay that way.

Just as he'd forgotten the intensity of the pain, he'd   
forgotten what it was like to lose it. How the sharp stings of   
it flowed over the flesh like a spiked glove until you were   
burning and aching again, how a certain kind of man could   
use this to break you... Oh God, he hoped Alex felt certain.

In the next moment he was being yanked up to fit against   
Krycek's chest and the unsubtle shift within him made   
Mulder cry out again. Krycek answered by digging his sharp,   
even teeth into the flesh of Mulder's shoulder and *holding*   
him there until Mulder's breathing started to even. 

"Are you ready?"

In response, Mulder lifted himself up by the knees and   
rammed back down, making himself gasp, wondering if his   
declaration of readiness was a lie, realizing when Krycek   
growled at his ear that it really didn't matter at all. And then   
Krycek's arm was gone and, oddly, his leather jacket was   
landing on the floor in front of Mulder.

Small moment of confusion and then Alex pressed them   
both back down to the floor. Mulder's cock was loosely   
caught between folds of soft leather, the scent of it was high   
in his nose.... and then Krycek started to move. 

Slow, hard, and thorough, pressing him into the jacket,   
flattening him with it. Mulder bucked into the thrusts as   
best he could, but the position was all wrong. His body   
tensed as he couldn't help but wonder if he'd really get what   
he needed, but Krycek whispered,

"Let me,"

And Mulder could do nothing but oblige, letting himself go   
as boneless as he'd wanted to all day. Krycek hissed and   
picked up speed, slamming him hard and grunting. Mulder   
didn't bother trying to close his mouth anymore, just rested   
his cheek against one outstretched sleeve and let Krycek   
push out every moan, every sobbing gasp, knowing he was   
getting *exactly* what he needed. 

And it just went on and on, hard and fast and impossible   
until he began to wonder if God really existed after all;   
maybe was just a really weird guy with a porn fetish...

"Jesus, Mulder, I can't... I can't --"

Krycek pulled out all the way for a heart-stopping moment,   
flipped Mulder over again and stripped his cock expertly until   
Mulder's knees gave up on shocked dismay and just fanned   
out, leaving him just as open and exposed as he needed to   
be. Krycek pushed in with a long groan, used his arm to   
push one of Mulder's legs up and found his rhythm again.

But when Mulder wrapped his other leg around Krycek's   
waist the other man promptly lost any pretense to control   
and just fucked him with ragged, gorgeous need. His eyes   
were squeezed shut, lashes damp on flushed cheeks, scars   
livid in a way so perfectly, cruelly obscene that Mulder came   
without another touch, screaming and holding the other   
man hard within him until his body had shuddered every   
last drop of pleasure out of him. 

Krycek started thrusting hard enough to slide both of them   
along the floor on the slightly lessened friction of the jacket,   
moaning sharply with each stroke until his eyes flew open   
and he finally came, staring with something between   
anguish and disbelief into Mulder's face and strangling on   
his own groan. 

And then they simply lay there for a while. 

A long while.

Mulder snapped out of his pleasantly featherless reverie.   
"Jesus, Krycek, what time is it you need to go?"

The other man smoldered lazily at him from under his   
lashes. "Relax, it's barely five-thirty. I'll get you to Walt's in   
plenty of time."

"You... Walt... hunh?"

"Oh, yeah. He called me from work and told me to fetch you.   
I'm sure glad I decided to come early --"

"*Fetch* me? Called you from work?!"

Krycek's grin expanded mightily. "He's such a schmoopy   
sometimes... the cuddles, the calls from work, the   
spankings..."

"But..."

"Shhh. Don't worry about it, Mulder. You need to keep your   
strength up."

"Strength?"

"We've got *so* many plans for you..."

******

When they were just outside Skinner's door, Mulder turned   
slightly and saw Krycek's hand hovering purposefully at the   
back collar of his shirt.

Before he could get out more than a few curses, Krycek was   
hauling him in by the scruff of the neck, wearing a brilliant   
smile.

"Wallllllterrrr... we're hooooome..."

Thankfully, the rest of their plans included handcuffing him   
to the balcony until he'd come up with an appropriate   
number of warm thoughts, and then handcuffing him to the   
leg of the coffee table to act out some of those thoughts, and   
then handcuffing him to the banister and doing a lot of   
thinking, and finally the bed.

The sweet, comfy bed. The sweet, comfy, crowded bed. 

They'd even propped pillows under his arms to make sure he   
didn't hurt his shoulders during the obligatory struggles. 

And Skinner -- Walter -- was doing some pretty interesting   
things to his cock. Mulder watched him lapping gently, too   
gently for the sensation to register as anything beyond 'geez,   
this turned out to be a pretty good day after all,' and tried to   
figure out what *precisely* was strange about the image.

It wasn't the cocksucking, per se... having finally seen what   
he'd been grinding against in Krycek's pants for the past   
several years, Mulder was reasonably sure that no sane   
individual could resist the pull of floor to knee for very long.   
If Walter hadn't been a cocksucker *before* Krycek, it   
probably hadn't taken long to rectify that situation.

It certainly wasn't that golden expanse of nudity blanketing   
the lower half of his body, either.

Or the partially blocked view of a naked Alex snoring in the   
wing chair. Sprawled out like that, covered in bruises... no,   
you just couldn't get more natural than that. Especially   
since his gun was dangling conveniently from his fingers.

Hmm.

"Walter, what happens when he has a nightmare?"

And when Walter looked up, Mulder saw *precisely* what was   
strange. Other people looked fuzzy without their glasses, but   
while the lack accentuated the basic crudity of his features,   
there was also no buffer whatsoever to that near-black gaze.   
Dark and obsidian and *weighted*, difficult to see as   
anything but rage or need and, in the end, it all made no   
difference -- Mulder's legs were going to try to relocate to   
different zip codes. 

Walter placed a light kiss on the head of his cock. "Look at   
the ceiling."

Mulder looked. And counted fourteen bullet holes before he   
started to worry. "Um... who lives upstairs?"

Deeply predatory grin. "No one... now." 

Mulder wondered if Walt and Alex ever played 'lions in the   
tall grass' together. 

And then he thought about it a little more, and decided that,   
if he *had* to be a zebra, he was glad to have *these*   
particular lions.

"Walter?"

"Hmmmm....?" Hummed around his length just as the   
suction abruptly increased. Mulder arched off the bed and   
stayed there for several moments *after* the other man had   
sucked himself right off Mulder's cock again. 

"Oh you fucker --"

"I could leave you here... maybe read you some nice poetry?   
Alex particularly enjoys the poetry reading."

"'Because the worm shall tread the lion down?'"

Walter snorted, retrieved the lube from where it had landed   
on the floor. "Maggots don't usually come up during sex,   
Mulder."

"Hmmph. And I thought you were going to be *kinky* --"

The finger in his ass wasn't particularly harsh, but it was   
certainly *assertive*. Moving around in there like it owned   
the place or something. Mulder felt the flush creep up from   
somewhere in that vicinity, the heat made him want to dunk   
his scalp in icewater.

Or maybe just lay there and writhe until the friction caused   
him to burst into flame. Walter S. Skinner: Prick Tease and   
Incendiary Device all in one easy-to-be-carried-off-by   
package. Really, the convenience was startling....

Mulder pulled at the cuffs meaningfully for perhaps the first   
time that evening, feeling the sudden urge to run his hands   
up and down his own thighs in exhibitionist demand. Grab   
his own cock, put on a show... Mulder tried to shake it off a   
little and caught Walter's eye. He was being watched   
intently, reactions catalogued for future use somewhere in   
that unfathomably practical mind.

Alex probably understood him perfectly, but then, there was   
no way Alex was human. There was an entirely different   
species of alien out there, feeding off leather and sexual   
frustration. Alex was probably just the spearhead of the   
*real* invasion and that thought brought him back to the   
delightful plundering of his ass and *Jesus* but Walter was   
thorough about these things...

It wasn't as though he needed all that preparation after the   
night *he'd* had.

"Please Walter... I'm ready, fuck me..."

"Naahhh... I'd really rather just torture you."

Mulder froze and jerked his attention away from the   
fascinating problem of proper hip rotation for maximum   
stimulation to find Walter grinning down at him. His eyes   
were practically *twinkling*.

"I am going to walk into your office tomorrow and shoot   
you."

The smile changed rapidly, and Mulder wondered just *how*   
much time he'd spent spanking Alex into a better   
relationship.

"Who says we're letting you go?"

"I never saw you as the sugar daddy type, Walt..."

"I see it as a stress reliever. There's a history of heart disease   
in my family, after all."

"Oh, *I* see... is that why you're not fucking me? Afraid that   
ancient heart will finally collapse in on itself?"

"Mulder, are you *daring* me to fuck you?"

Mulder thought for a moment. "Yes."

Walter smirked and finally added a second finger. And moved   
them *slowly*. Too slowly to be much more than infuriating,   
really.

"OK, I'm double daring you."

Several sharp, rapid, well-aimed thrusts left Mulder ready to   
scream, but then Walter slowed down again. 

"Oh God... oh fuck...."

"What was that, Mulder?"

"Can't you just play *normal* butch daddy games?"

"Well, you didn't specify your Top request. I decided to give   
you my own special blend."

"You and Starbucks deserve to be annihilated from the face   
of the Earth. After you fuck me."

"I have to say, you're not making the prospect very attract --" 

Walter's words were cut off with a highly satisfying gasp   
when Mulder managed to plant his feet and *roll* into the   
touch, fucking himself on the teasing hand just as fast as he   
needed to for a glorious moment. He could feel every muscle   
clench, buried his face against his own shoulder and   
*worked*.

"Mulder..."

"Fuck. Me."

Walter dove in and kissed him, not once but several times,   
one biting suckle for each marvelously vicious thrust of his   
fingers. And then worked his way over Mulder's throat and   
down, lingering on each nipple with just slightly less than   
too much force.

Mulder watched helplessly, twisting in the cuffs, unable to   
really move his body with Walter pinning him. He watched   
the muscles in the other man's back bunch and flex with   
ominous presence and knew that, whatever he was getting, it   
wasn't *all* of it.... 

Mulder made a mental note to see just how firm Walter was   
on the whole 'no office fucks' thing, and made another to   
never, ever just shut the hell up. 

Walter lingered over the bite marks Alex had left on his   
stomach with care, attention, and something like obsession.   
Mulder wondered if he was imagining Alex's taste remained   
on him, or if he simply wished to make the marks of   
possession more permanent. *Their* toy...

And then Walter bit him on the hip.

Their *chew* toy. 

Before he had a chance to protest, or moan purposefully, or   
whatever, Walter took him deep in one long swallow. His   
fingers never left Mulder's ass, and stroked him precisely   
where he needed it most. 

And sucked him off like a pro.

A cheek-pumping, tongue-swirling, no-blinking blowjob from   
the man Mulder would've voted most likely to keep a man on   
his knees for the sole purpose of having a man there, on his   
knees. Mulder was willing to accept the idea that he jumped   
to conclusions, now and again.

And Walter was watching him expectantly. Mulder was   
confused, but then his vision started to fade around the   
edges and he realized he'd forgotten to breathe for a while.

And with the first sharp intake of oxygen Mulder was   
suddenly *aware* of just how hot and wet and tight that   
mouth was. His hips jerked once, twice, trying to bury his   
cock deeper within that furnace even though his balls were   
already knocking the other man on the chin. 

Walter just let him go, and the sight of himself disappearing   
into that suddenly, marvelously affectionate mouth made his   
head whip back and forth until his hair tried to fall over his   
eyes. The feel of Walter's throat working the head of his cock   
and, by God, the *constancy* of the fingers in his ass...

Mulder came with a gunshot crack to the base of the spine,   
yelling and jerking. 

And yelling.

No, that wasn't right. His mouth was open, but all that was   
coming out were pants. And then there was a gunshot and   
the noise stopped.

Well, his heart stopped for a moment, but the noise stopped,   
too.

"Bitch ass fucking alarm clock."

Mulder opened his eyes to find Alex standing to the left of   
the bed, eyeing the splintered remains of Walter's end table. 

"Alex, what have I told you about this?" Walt rolled off   
Mulder and glared, clearly irritable. 

"Nothing higher than a .32 in the house?"

"Damned right. I know you have to meet Dana now, but you   
better be ready to clean this mess up when you get back."

"Yes, Dad."

Alex managed to beam with vaguely insincere guilt. It was a   
disturbing expression, but it was nothing compared to that   
*other* thought --

"Wait a minute -- *Dana*?"

They eyed him blandly for a moment. "Yeah, and?"

"Alex is sleeping with *Scully*?"

"Well, of *course* I am. So's Walter."

"She's never slept with *me*..."

Walter patted him gently on the shoulder, Alex eyed him   
sympathetically. 

"You know, we've asked her about that before."

"The whole not-screwing-you thing, that is."

"What the hell did she say?"

Alex answered, "Well, we were talking about some of her   
exes, and she mentioned how all of them had been friends   
beforehand. She told me you were her first successful   
platonic friendship, and that she planned to keep it that way   
as an experiment in respectable behavior."

"While fucking you two."

Walter nodded. "And cutting a *swathe* through Sci-  
Crimes."

"But not me."

Alex smirked. "I think she likes the idea of you jerking off till   
you're raw."

"I'd have to agree with that assessment, Mulder. She's   
intrinsically evil."

"But you're both sleeping with her."

"*Fuck* yeah. Those professional little skirts..."

"Her *real* hair color..."

"Those gorgeous, heavy breasts --"

"With honest-to-God *rose* nipples..."

Mulder watched them wax rhapsodic about his partner as   
Alex pulled on some -- suspiciously easy to remove --   
clothes. 

And then he reminded himself *firmly* to count his   
blessings, resolved to go for an ass-grab no matter *what*   
her respectability policy was, resettled his still-bound arms   
on the pillows, letting himself drift to sleep.

******  
End.  
******


End file.
